


In My Dreams You're Dying

by blackmountainbones



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Codependency, Drug Addiction, F/M, Heroin, It hurts so good, M/M, Switching, but there's still angst, don't worry no one dies, drug overdose, every junkie's like a setting sun, have some angst with your smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones
Summary: Perhaps Julian had always known that he would lose Noel to a woman one day. He just hadn't expected Noel to fall in love with the White Lady.





	In My Dreams You're Dying

**Author's Note:**

> HEED THE WARNINGS. This one is gonna hurt. This fic is not a glamorization of the junky lifestyle, nor a "how-to" guide for using any of the substances mentioned in this story. There is no explicit drug use; this is more a study of codependency and what it feels like to watch someone you love lose themselves to addiction.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. I made it all up, and I do not intend to imply that any of these events actually happened, nor that any of the people in this fic actually used any of the drugs mentioned herein. Also, I am not, nor have I ever been, a user of hard drugs. That said, I have lost many friends and loved ones to opiates over the years, and it seems my muse is going to force me to write a heroin AU for every fandom I join. My therapist says I've got a lot of shit to process. This is some of it.

"In my dreams you're dying  
It wakes me up, I feel like crying  
I just wanna live forever  
Keep my promises, keep it together

In my dreams, you're living  
Open my eyes and I wake up forgiven  
Just a little something to thin the blood  
How can we live with so much love?"  
\--Arcade Fire, "Peter Pan"

 

**part i: in my dreams you’re dying**

Julian made himself a cup of tea and settled down at the kitchen table to read the newspaper on his tablet.

He grinned at himself, a little amused. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be the kind of man who woke up with the dawn to drink tea and read in the quiet morning hours--for the first four decades of his life, Julian had rarely been awake to see the sun rise unless he’d stayed up all night on a cocktail of fags, alcohol, and cocaine. Back then, at this time, usually he’d’ve been so hyped that he’d sneak a couple bumps of heroin to ease the comedown and help him catch a few hours of sleep before heading out to do it again the next night.

Now, he would purposefully wake up hours before he had to for the sole purpose of having some time to himself to read before Julia and the boys got out of bed. It was strange, Julian considered, how much his life had changed since he and Noel had parted ways, and their collaborative comedy show The Mighty Boosh had ended after 15 years. Life, Julian thought, could surprise you like that.

He sighed, taking a sip of tea and browsing the articles in his newsfeed distractedly. He almost scrolled past the headline: NOEL FIELDING OF THE MIGHTY BOOSH HOSPITALIZED FOR EXHAUSTION!!! it proclaimed in lurid letters.

Julian froze, his finger hovering over the screen. Before he could think twice about it, he’d tapped the link.

As soon as the article loaded, Julian was greeted by a picture of Noel, rail-thin, grey-skinned, stumbling out of a club on the arms of some young ingenue, his eyes heavy and half-lidded, pupils pinned. Julian recognized the dazed, drugged-out expression on Noel’s face and _knew_ \--Noel was back on heroin.

He almost dropped the tablet. Luckily, he caught himself before he did, but in doing so, he managed to knock his tea off the table with his elbow. The mug clattered to the floor, shattering on impact, and Julian cursed and kicked at the puddle of tea on the floor.

Because Julian was a responsible homeowner, however, he dutifully wiped the spilled tea off the floor and swept up the fragments of porcelain off the floor, then brewed another cup of tea. As he carried it to the table, he realized his hands were shaking. Luckily, he managed to avoid spilling this cup, though a few drops sloshed over the sides and stained the tabletop.

Julian sat and sipped, trying to calm his trembling hands and racing heart. Against his better judgement, he reached for the tablet and typed Noel’s name into Google.

Dozens of similar articles loaded: pictures of Noel nodding out on the shoulder of Peaches Geldof, stories about his erratic behavior and frequent hospitalizations, which were explained simply as “exhaustion”. Julian wished desperately for a fag, but was unable to stop scrolling long enough to get his cigarettes from his study.

That was how Julia found him when she came downstairs: hunched over his tablet, a half-drunk cold cup of tea at his side.

“Morning,” she chirped, leaning over to peck a kiss against Julian’s temple. He mumbled something indistinct in response without looking up from his tablet.

Julia leaned over his shoulder to see what had absorbed his attention so completely. “Oh, Julian,” she said in a voice that was equal parts sad and exasperated. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

Julian squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. “I--I don’t know.” It was a lie. He knew exactly why he kept doing this, every single time that Noel’s bad behavior made the headlines.

Because Julian had been the one to give Noel his first taste.

 

 

**ii: just a perfect day (you make me forget myself)**

It was the end of another long night. He and Noel had performed a wildly successful show, and both had been so keyed up by the energy of the crowd that neither of them considered doing something so mundane as heading back to their respective apartments and going to sleep at a decent hour. Instead, they’d drunk beer and mingled with their adoring public, never straying more than an arm’s length from each other.

Julian smiled at Noel over the rim of his beer glass as he watched him chat up one of their fans, a young woman wearing thick black eyeliner and a ring on each finger. He loved watching the way that Noel’s eyes would dance as he worked his unusual brand of charm on a flirtatious stranger. It didn’t make him jealous--Julian never minded Noel flirting a bit; he knew Noel would be going home with _him_ , not anybody else _._

That was the way they were: friends, comedy partners, _lovers_. They’d fallen into bed that very first night that Noel had invited Julian in for a cup of tea after Julian had given him a ride home from the bar. Julian hadn’t taken him seriously when he’d warned _If you come in, you can never leave_ ; he’d just said something stupid about not having anything on.

In hindsight, he should have realized Noel was being serious: Julian had stayed that night, and then two more. When he finally went back to his own apartment, Noel came with him. They’d rarely spent a night apart since. 

So it was fine, really, if Noel wanted to flirt with a pretty girl. He’d forget her name and everything else about her as soon as Julian got his hands in his pants.

Julian was distracted from his contemplation of Noel by a tap on his shoulder. A young man with glasses and blonde hair that was a little too long and unkempt to be considered respectable asked, “Hey man, your show was fucking _mental._ ”

“Oh yeah, thanks… um….”

“I’m Rob,” the man offered, grinning and offering a hand to shake.

“Julian,” Julian said, because it seemed impolite not to.

“Yeah, I know.” Rob threw his head back and laughed. “Hey, Julian, you like to party?”

Julian shrugged. He’d dabbled, here and there. “Sure,” he said.

“I got some coke if you want,” Rob said in a voice that was almost a whisper.

Julian looked back at Noel, who was still deep in conversation with the girl, and said _sure_ before his rational mind could override his pleasure-seeking instincts. He caught Noel’s eye and gestured toward the bathrooms; Noel nodded without looking up from his conversation, so Julian followed the man to the bathroom.

They squeezed into the single stall, and Rob wasted no time in cutting a few lines on the back of the toilet while Julian rolled a ten-pound note into a cylinder. It’d been a while since he’d partaken this particular vice--the sensation took him by surprise, and he shook his head violently in an attempt to ground himself.

“Good shit, isn’t it,” Rob said with a pleased smile, looking satisfied as Julian rubbed his nose and passed him the rolled-up note.

They took turns sucking up the rest of the cocaine. Julian’s face was numb; his throat burned and his heart was racing. “Yeah. Good shit,” he agreed.

Rob grinned and passed Julian a baggie of white powder. “For later, yeah?”

“What’s this?” Julian asked, his head buzzing too much to make sense of what was happening.

“Just some dope to help take the edge off if you need it.” Rob wiped his nose, and Julian accepted the proffered drugs, not thinking too much about it.

He’d done heroin a handful of times, few and far between, but he’d never made a habit of it. He’d instinctively known that it was _too_ good; he could easily become addicted to the euphoric feeling. But free drugs were free drugs, and Julian wasn’t stupid enough to turn them down when they were offered.

The bathroom door cracked open. “Julian?” the interloper called. Julian recognized the voice as Noel's.

He opened the stall door before he realized what it looked like: Julian in the stall with another man. “Yeah, I’m right here.”

Noel walked over to the stall, looking confused to discover Julian was not alone. His face fell as he gazed between Julian and the skinny blonde man at his side, and Julian opened his mouth to try to explain--

“Hey man,” his drug-addled companion interrupted, “you want some coke?”

Noel looked at Julian, as if asking his permission. Julian nodded, and the man cut another line on the top of the toilet tank and handed Noel the rolled-up pound note. Noel looked a bit awkward, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

He was still so young, barely out of uni and not a little bit innocent, always so eager for Julian’s approval. Julian had liked the way that Noel was so obviously in awe of everything he did, and Julian, who’d always felt so awkward and uncool, liked knowing that Noel thought him so worldly. He’d given Noel so many of his firsts--first kiss with a man, first blowjob, first bumming, first comedy gig--and a part of him thrilled at the way that Noel had experienced each with his wide-eyed wonder.

He knew Noel had experimented a bit, smoked pot, taken a few tabs of acid, done E once or twice. He was still innocent in the ways of hard drugs.

“You don’t have to,” Julian said, sensing his discomfort.

“No, it’s OK--I want to, I just…”

“Just stick that in your nose and breathe deep,” the blond man whose drugs they were taking instructed, and Noel leaned down and did just that. He snorted half the line, pulling a face.

“Oi! That’s bitter,” Noel said, surprised. He handed Julian the rolled-up pound note, and Julian obligingly finished the rest of the coke before pocketing the note.

“Yeah, that’s the good shit,” Rob said, grinning madly.

“Thanks, man,” Julian said, sniffling. His nasal passages felt raw, and the bitter taste of the cocaine dripped down the back of his throat.

Rob looked rather pleased about that. “My pleasure. See you next time, yeah?” He left the bathroom stall without looking back, perhaps sensing that the two men would want some time to themselves, which Julian appreciated.

Cocaine had always given him the horn, and this time was no exception. As soon as they were left alone, Julian latched the stall door and pushed Noel up against the wall.

“Fuck,” Noel sighed, letting his head drop back. His neck was exposed, and Julian wasted no time sucking kisses up and down the pale skin.

“Feels good, doesn’t it,” Julian murmured between kisses.

“Fuck yeah,” Noel moaned, pressing his crotch into Julian’s thigh.

Julian grinned and pressed a leg between Noel’s thigh for him to rut against. All too soon, a crowd of men barrelled into the bathroom, chatting obnoxiously, and he pulled away, but not before giving Noel’s cock a good grope. Noel opened his mouth to let out moan, so Julian covered his mouth with one of his big hands to muffle the sound before the men could discover what they were up to. The cheeky mix _licked_ him, and it was Julian’s turn to stifle a groan, which he did by biting Noel on the neck.

Luckily, it didn’t take long for the interlopers finished their business. When the door shut behind them, Julian let go of Noel’s face and released the skin of his neck from between his lips with a _pop_ of suction, leaving a slight red mark that made Julian feel a strange sense of satisfaction.

Stealing one last, almost-chaste kiss, he pushed open the stall door, leading Noel out of the stall and back to the bar by the hand Julian had wrapped around his wrist, still buzzing with the manic cocaine buzz.

 

It was dawn by the time they made it back to Julian’s flat. The cocaine was still buzzing in their brains. Neither man was ready to settle down, so they grabbed a few beers from the fridge and climbed out Julian’s bedroom window and up the fire escape to watch the sunrise on the roof as they often did on nights like this.

Noel was straddling the edge of the rooftop, while Julian was laid out on the blanket they’d brought with them. Noel loved heights--he’d said more than once that sitting on the edge made him feel on top of the world--but it never failed to make Julian nervous. He could never stifle the anxious feeling that Noel might slip and fall, or lose his balance, or be blown off the edge by a strong wind; the idea that he might have to relearn how to live a life without Noel in it terrified him.

“Get down from there,” Julian grumbled in the kind of voice on might use to scold a particularly naughty kitten.

Noel rolled his eyes. “I ain’t gonna fall, you know,” he grumbled, but he slid off the ledge and slinked towards Julian, who reached up to pull Noel to sit down next to him on the blanket.

They sat and drank beer, recapping the evening’s show together as was their habit, discussing which jokes had worked and which didn’t, arguing a bit over how to improve them. The sky was starting to turn pink in the east, yet neither man seemed to be ready to wind down despite the impossibly late--or early, depending on how you looked at it--hour.

Julian reached into his pocket for the baggie Rob had given him back at the bar. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have a little taste….

“What’s that?” Noel inquired, inspecting the tiny baggie Julian was holding. “More coke?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Nah,” Julian said. “Are you mental? It’s almost dawn, way too late for that shit.”

“Well, what is it?” Noel asked again.

“Heroin,” Julian answered. He reached into his pocket for his keychain, then dipped the point of one of his keys into the baggie to scoop up some of the powder and held it to his nostril, then inhaled.

Noel looked hesitant. “Heroin?” he asked skeptically. Julian knew he’d been an impressionable teenager during the 90s grunge era, and had seen many of his favorite musicians get hooked on the stuff. Some, like Lane Staley of Alice in Chains, had overdosed. Others, like Kurt Cobain, had killed themselves just to escape its clutch.

Julian shrugged. “You don’t have to,” he said. “Just thought it might help ease the comedown.” He fumbled in his pocket for his keychain.

Noel watched as Julian repeated the process. “Do… do you think I could try?”

Julian didn’t even bother to ask if he was sure. Instead, he prepared another bump, holding the powdered key up to Noel’s pointy, hooked nose.

Noel hesitated a moment, but then curiosity must have gotten the better of him, and he sniffed it up with a honking sound that made Julian chuckle.

The heroin hit all at once, a rush of euphoria so powerful that Julian had to close his eyes to avoid being overpowered by the sensation. Noel held him, anchoring him in place, even as he threatened to float away on a blissful cloud--he was warm and close and Julian loved him more than anything.

Finally, he felt safe enough to open his eyes. Noel was looking up at him with a soft expression. “God, I love you, Julian.”

Even as high as he was, Julian still felt uncomfortable with how easily Noel was able to express his emotions. Since he lacked Noel’s earnestness and unselfconsciousness, he ran a hand over Noel’s hair and said, “You’re a tit.”

“A tit who loves you,” Noel reminded him.

Despite himself, Julian smiled. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Noel’s middle and pulled him closer.

The heroin settled between them, softening the world’s edges. They laid on the roof, breathing each other in, the rising sun tinting the sky pink. Though they hadn’t been able to finish earlier, Julian felt no urgency to get off; he was satisfied to simply lay next to Noel and run his fingertips over the features of his face.

Julian traced Noel’s profile, his sharp cheekbones, and strong chin; Noel leaned into the touch like a contented cat. His eyelids drooped, lashes fluttering and casting long, spiky shadows on his cheeks. It made Julian’s heart swell--he felt so full of love for this strange and wonderful man that he felt like he might burst with it.

Even sober, he could barely believe Noel was real--he fit with Julian so perfectly in so many ways that Julian wondered if he’d dreamed him into existence. A quiet, awkward child, Julian had had trouble connecting with the other children; most of his childhood friends had been imaginary. Sometimes, Julian wondered if Noel was one of his imaginary friends all grown up and _alive_. He was at a loss to explain the marvel of Noel’s existence otherwise.

“This feels good,” Noel murmured, nuzzling his face into Julian’s open palm. “Better ‘n anything, ever.”

Julian opened his mouth to agree but couldn’t find the words to say so; they all seemed so insignificant, inconsequential, inadequate to express the immensity of his feelings for Noel in the moment. Instead, he pulled Noel’s face to his chest and nodded, hoping Noel would understand.

Noel’s breath tickled his skin; Julian shivered and was struck by a sudden wave of inspiration. “I love you, always, forever, no matter what,” he murmured.

He could feel Noel’s lips as they stretched into a smile against his skin. “Always?”

“Nothing could ever make me stop.” Normally, such sappiness would have made him embarrassed, but the heroin dulled the edges of his self-loathing enough to allow Julian to express himself honestly.

Noel pressed a kiss to Julian’s collarbone. Julian kept stroking his hair, still marveling at Noel’s existence, that they’d been able to find each other in a world so vast and cruel as this one.

A car horn sounded from the street below, breaking the moment. “C’mon,” Julian murmured, forcing himself to stand up, “let’s go to bed.” He offered a hand to Noel, who allowed Julian to pull him to his feet. They made their way down the fire escape and back into Julian’s room, then crawled beneath the duvet to hold each other close until they drifted into sleep.

That night, Julian dreamt that he was lying on the roof, watching Noel dance on the ledge, a dark silhouette in front of the full moon. Noel bent from the waist and leaned down to reach for Julian, who reached back. Just before Julian could grasp his hand and pull him to safety, he tripped, accidentally causing Noel to lose his balance and fall over the edge--

Julian woke up screaming. His shouts woke Noel up, too, and when Julian had finally stopped gasping long enough to tell Noel what he’d dreamed of, Noel only wrapped him up into a soothing embrace. “Silly Julian, I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, and rocked Julian back to sleep.

 

 

**iii:  you’re always on the decline**

The night’s gig had gone well enough--they’d drawn a big and enthusiastic crowd that had lingered after their set, anxious for a chance to mingle with two almost-famous comedians. Noel adored his public, and his public adored him back, but the open adulation made Julian uncomfortable, which he dealt with by being abrupt and socially awkward enough to keep his fans at a more comfortable distance.

That was why he was huddled at the bar by himself, drinking one ale after another, watching Noel flit from pretty girl to pretty girl on the dancefloor. He appeared to be deep in conversation with a young, fit, blonde bird with a trendy haircut. She was whispering something in his ear; whatever it was made Noel toss his head back and laugh.

Julian felt a sudden and inconvenient pang of jealousy. He tried to wash it away with another swig of ale, but it lingered stubbornly, and he ordered another, certain his beer was defective--usually drinking helped to drown his uncomfortable emotions. He hated the girl, for making Noel laugh like that; it hadn’t been so long ago that Noel had reserved his most raucous laughter for Julian alone.

But things were different now, after the success of the radio show. More and more often, Julian felt like he was no longer enough for Noel. The man needed his fans, needed their approval--and, Julian considered, watching the blonde girl offer Noel something in her cupped hand, something Noel quickly shoved into a pocket--needed their drugs.

The thought made him feel vaguely hypocritical--it wasn’t like he wasn’t all off his face himself most nights on powders, pills, and everything in between. That was the thing about being famous: people wanted you to like them, to give you things, to get you off. Julian liked getting off.

Perhaps he wasn’t the most self-aware bloke out there, but he knew enough about himself to know that he liked feeling good, liked things that _made_ him feel good. Still, the ease with which the drugs found him was beginning to make Julian feel uncomfortable, especially as he was beginning to suspect that Noel was slipping over the line from a casual to a habitual user of heroin.

It probably took him longer than than it should have to notice the signs, considering Julian wasn’t exactly abstinent himself. He got high with Noel more often than not, but that was the thing--he only did dope with Noel, when Noel asked him to. He was finding more empty glassine baggies around the flat, baggies that Julian certainly hadn’t left there, and Noel’s eyes had that characteristic doped-up droop more and more often these days, sometimes even during the daytime. Julian suspected that Noel was using more than he let on, but at the same time, he figured Noel was a grown man, old enough to make his own decisions. Besides, even if Julian wasn’t using heroin often, trying to talk to Noel about the stuff made him feel like too much of a hypocrite, so he inevitably gave up before he got anywhere.

He turned to his beer, taking a deep draught and hoping that the alcohol would start doing its job and keep Julian from thinking. It wasn’t long before Noel found him there and whispered _Let’s get out of here_ into his ear. Julian obliged, all too willingly.

 

Back at the flat, they collapsed into Julian’s big bed, limbs wrapped loosely around each other. Neither man was ready for bed--Julian could feel Noel’s energy, sparking electric beneath his skin, charged up as he so often was after a gig. Julian was all too grateful to soak up what he was giving off. Normally, Noel would let him, but he seemed more restless than usual, unable to keep still long enough for Julian to absorb his excess energy.

Noel wriggled, fishing for something in the pocket of his skinny jeans. “I got us something,” Noel said, waving a little glassine packet in between his fingers.

Julian recognized it for what it was immediately--heroin. It was the third time this week Noel’d brought some home, and he knew what Noel wanted even before he said it: _Let’s get high._

Noel rummaged through Julian’s bedside table, extricating the small handheld mirror they used to cut lines. He flicked the compact open one-handed. Its surface was blurry with the residue of white powder.

Julian watched as Noel methodically cut the powder into lines. When Noel asked him for note, Julian reached for his wallet hesitantly, but he did not protest.

Noel wrapped the note into a tight cylinder expertly, and Julian felt a pang at how quickly his lover had lost his innocence; not so long ago, he had still been ignorant of the darker drugs. The thought made Julian feel a pang of something uncomfortable, which he promptly stifled. When Noel passed him the mirror and the rolled-up pound note, Julian sucked up a fat line, letting his head loll back against the pillows as the heroin hit him.

“Feels good,” Noel murmured, putting the mirror and note on Julian’s night table, lying back to gather Julian into his arms.

Julian would have been happy to lie together for the rest of the night, but Noel started dragging his hips against Julian’s arse, he knew the man had other ideas for the night.

“Let me fuck you,” Noel moaned. His cock was warm and stiff against Julian’s thigh, even through the layers of clothing that separated them.

Julian hesitated. Sure, he liked sex, and he liked drugs, and he liked combining the two. Sex on mushrooms made him feel like he was fucking God. Sex on weed was a wave of pure sensation. Drunk sex was playful and sloppy. Sex on cocaine made his heart beat in his ears and his dick so hard coming felt like his cock was exploding.

But, Julian considered, sex on heroin didn’t feel much like sex at all. Being high already felt like a full-body orgasm; heroin made him feel more like he was watching a movie of himself having sex than actually _having_ sex--he could see Noel’s hand clutching his hip as he drove himself more deeply inside, could see the droplets of perspiration on Noel’s chest drip onto his own, but the sensations themselves were distant, hard to grasp.

But Noel seemed to love it. He’d always been impatient with sex; unlike Julian, he’d never quite mastered the art of holding himself on the edge of orgasm indefinitely, and he often came before he wanted to. Julian loved his enthusiasm--it made him feel sexy to know that Noel wanted him so badly he couldn’t help himself--but he knew that it made Noel embarrassed more than anything. Part of the appeal for Noel, Julian supposed, was that heroin kept him from coming too quickly.

Noel had already slipped his hand under Julian’s shirt, stroking his side softly. Julian allowed the touch; sober, he was far too ticklish for this kind of touch, but the heroin kept the sensations distant enough that Noel was able pet him anywhere, even the most ticklish spots on along the curve of his waist.

“Let me fuck you,” Noel repeated, and this time, Julian rolled over obediently. He still wasn’t exactly in the mood to be fucked, but he figured that it didn’t matter--heroin was an out-of-body experience; it made him feel like he was far enough away that it didn’t seem worth it to deny Noel something he wanted so badly.

Noel pulled Julian’s shirt over his head and urged him to lift his hips so he could remove Julian’s jeans and pants. He leaned over Julian’s broad back to retrieve the lube from the night table, and Julian heard the soft _snick_ of the bottle being opened. Noel used one hand to pry the cheeks of Julian’s arse apart. Without warning, he squeezed a glob of lube directly onto Julian’s arsehole; it was cold and uncomfortably slick and made Julian flinch.

“Easy,” Noel murmured, reaching up to ruffle Julian’s already-messy curls.

“S’cold,” Julian grumbled into the pillow.

“I know,” Noel soothed. He traced Julian’s hole with a gentle fingertip, lazily playing with the muscle, letting it relax a bit before he pushed his finger inside slowly. He always took his time when he prepared Julian, never trying to thrust right away; instead, he moved his finger in small circles, then wider ones, stretching Julian gently before he began pumping his finger in and out.

Julian wriggled his hips, silently urging Noel to hurry. Noel obliged, squeezing a little more lube onto Julian’s arse and adding another finger. Julian felt him scissor his fingers from the inside, the usual burn muted by the dope. It didn’t take long before Noel added another and started finger-fucking him in earnest, occasionally brushing up against Julian’s prostate. As numb as the rest of his body was, Julian could still feel the pressure building as Noel massaged that spongy bundle of nerves that always made him feel like his prick was being stroked from the inside.

Julian moaned and braced himself by grabbing the slats of the headboard in his hands, fighting to keep from fucking himself onto Noel’s hand and failing.

“God, Julian,” Noel groaned from somewhere behind him, “you have no idea how _hot_ you are like this, fuck, taking my fingers so well, you’re so _good_ \--”

Julian shivered despite himself. His prick seemed to have noticed Noel’s words of praise, and Julian was surprised to realize he had an erection. Heroin was like that--it made everything feel so good he could barely feel his cock. Now that he’d noticed he was hard, however, he couldn’t ignore it.

Noel noticed too. He removed his fingers from Julian’s arse, which made Julian whine, and strained forward to wrap his lube-slick fingers around one of Julian’s hands, loosening his grip on the headboard. He guided Julian’s hand between his legs to close around his own prick, giving him a couple of guiding strokes.

“That’s it, touch yourself for me,” Noel murmured. Julian heard him click open the bottle of lube again; even without looking, he knew Noel was slicking up his cock to penetrate him. It made Julian whine with need. “That’s so good, you’re so good…”

Noel reached for a pillow, which he shoved under Julian’s hips, angling his arse up for easy access. He grabbed one cheek in each hand, pulling them apart to expose Julian’s stretched hole, then paused. Julian almost kicked him to get him to do something, _anything_ , but then he felt Noel’s breath ghosting on his skin, his stubble and the slick warmth of his lips as he pressed an open-mouth kiss onto Julian’s loosened arsehole.

Julian made a truly embarrassing sound, and Noel chuckled, finally taking mercy on him and rearranging Julian’s limbs so he could press inside. As he worked his cock into Julian’s hole, he rocked his hips side-to-side for a bit, stretching the parts of Julian that his fingers could not reach, before grabbing Julian by the hips and thrusting hard and deep.

Julian knew from experience that heroin dulled the sensations enough for Noel to fuck him roughly without Julian feeling too sore or Noel losing control and coming too quickly, and Noel snapped his hips forward and back, withdrawing his cock almost completely and shoving back in without a hint of gentleness. His thrusts grew quicker and more harsh as Julian grabbed at his prick and wanked, trying to match his rhythm.

It took longer than usual when they were high like this, and Noel stopped frequently to catch his breath and apply more lube to Julian’s arse before resuming the deep, rough, thrusts that made Julian quiver and moan. Julian could feel his orgasm working its way up his prick, but he’d been wanking himself so long his cock had began to chafe, and he desperately spit into his hand to ease the friction a bit. Noel noticed and yanked Julian’s hand off of himself, squeezing a large glob of lube into his hand.

Julian grabbed his prick tightly, wanking hard. His balls ached, his cock felt swollen with come. Suddenly, his orgasm hit him--he felt the warm liquid dribble onto his fingers before he realized he was coming, and his insides seized as his prick jumped and shot cum all over the sheets.

Noel kept fucking him until Julian was oversensitive and wincing, even despite the dull edge of the dope, then pulled out, grabbing his prick to wank himself. “Fuck, I’m so close,” he groaned. Even in his fucked-out haze, Julian could see the way he tightened his grip and quickened his strokes. The added stimulation finally made him come, and his semen spilled over the cheeks of Julian’s arse in wet streaks.

“Fuck, that was good,” Noel gasped, still short of breath from fucking Julian for an hour straight. He settled against Julian’s side, curling into him like a cat, as he squeezed Julian’s arsecheek, lazily smearing his cum over Julian’s skin. It reminded Julian of watching him work in his art studio, mixing paint on canvas with his fingers like an overgrown child.

“God, I’m filthy,” Julian groaned, too fucked out and heroin-heavy to get up and do anything about it.

He could feel Noel smile against his shoulder blade. “It’s a good look on you,” Noel murmured, peppering Julian’s skin with soft, closed-mouth kisses. “You should always have some of my cum on you.” His fingers trailed through the mess he’d made on Julian’s arse, and Julian wriggled, slapping him gently.

The semen on his arse was rapidly cooling, making Julian’s skin feel tight and itchy, irritating even through the heroin-tinged afterglow. “You’re depraved,” Julian said. It only made Noel chuckle, so Julian slapped him again, a little harder. “C’mon, clean up your mess, you slag.”

“Just a minute more,” Noel said, throwing a leg over the back of Julian’s thighs to pin him in place. Almost instantly, his breathing deepened, and he was asleep.

Julian lingered in beneath him a few minutes more. As close as they laid together, Julian could hardly feel him--the heroin had settled down between them, making Julian once again feel distant and disconnected from his body. His arm had fallen asleep, and he pushed the dead weight of Noel’s leg off him to sit up and grope for his fags, lazily scratching the dried semen off his arse as he lit up.

He sat and smoked, lighting another cigarette from the butt of the last as he watched Noel sleep peacefully, dead to the world, unaware of the thoughts that roiled in Julian’s head. All at once, Julian knew that this would be one of the last times they lay like this together, naked and sated; he did not know how but he _knew_ that Noel would leave him. He didn’t know when, but he knew that it would happen the same way he knew his own name or the back of his hand, knew that as much as he loved Noel, Noel craved something Julian could not give him--he craved heroin.

Finally, as the sun rose over the horizon, Julian slipped into sleep. He did not dream, and the oblivion felt like a small mercy from a God in which he had long-since ceased to believe.

 

 

**iv: the white lady loves you more**

It had been another late night, and Julian was still keyed up from a mixture of adrenaline and cocaine when the bartender announced last call. He grabbed himself another drink, then looked around the bar for Noel.

He found him on the dancefloor, slow-dancing with Dee, his girlfriend, despite the energetic beat of the song playing over the PA. Julian liked Dee well enough and supposed she and Noel were good together--Dee was a good bird, kind and a talented musician. Most importantly, she shared Noel’s taste for heroin, a taste Julian had never quite allowed himself to develop. He supposed they were suited to each other in that way.

He walked up to Noel and tapped him on the shoulder, and Noel gazed at him with the kind of heavy-lidded, lazy grin that meant he was already high. Julian took a sip of his beer, stifling an exasperated sigh. He wasn’t Noel’s mum, he wasn’t Noel’s keeper--he couldn’t keep Noel from getting high.

Noel reached back to pull Julian against his back as Dee lifted her head off his shoulder, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to focus enough to see Julian clearly. “Oh, it’s you,” she murmured, snaking one of her arms around Julian’s back. The three of them rocked gently together on the dancefloor in a strange three-way embrace that made Julian feel out of place, as though he did not quite belong, but he did not try to extricate himself from their grasp. Instead, he wrapped his free arm around Noel’s hip, stroking the line of his hipbone and daring to take a surreptitious sniff of Noel’s hair. It smelled like sweat and hairspray and girlie drinks, so familiar it made Julian ache.

Eventually, the music stopped, and the lights went on. The bartenders began ushering out the lingering patrons, and Julian  finished his beer in one long draught as Noel threw his arm around his girlfriend and smiled up at Julian, who grinned back.

The three of them hailed a cab and crammed into the backseat for the ride back to Noel's flat, which was closer. Noel took the middle seat. He had one hand around Dee’s; the other was stroking Julian’s thigh sensuously, sliding a little too close to his groin for comfort, and Julian’s cock was responding to the touch like the traitor it was. He tried to will his erection away by thinking of unpleasant things, but it was no use. It had been too long since he’d had Noel, and his prick filled and tugged against the seam of his trousers.

“You can fuck him, you know,” Dee murmured. “I don’t mind.” Her eyes fluttered shut, her head lolled forward. Julian knew she was high.

He squirmed, trying to disentangle himself from Noel’s limbs. “It’s OK, I don’t--”

“He misses you, you know,” Dee interrupted, eyes still closed, chin still resting on her chest. “Misses the way you fuck him most of all. He talks about it all the time.”

Julian gazed down at Noel, whose blue eyes twinkled. “It’s true,” he whispered, the hand on Julian’s thigh stealing between his legs to grope Julian’s half-hard prick. The traitorous thing throbbed in his grip, and Julian groaned, knowing he would not be able to resist. He leaned down to kiss Noel, intending to press a chaste kiss to his mouth, but Noel opened his jaw and slipped his tongue into Julian’s mouth and Julian lost all control.

He was only barely aware of Dee cheering them on as they groped each other and made out in the back of the cab like teenagers. He barely noticed that the cab had stopped at their destination, letting Noel pull him out of the car and upstairs to his bedroom. Dee graciously took the guest bedroom, grinning and telling them to enjoy themselves, but Julian only half-heard her; he was too wrapped up in Noel, in the smell and weight and feel of him, to pay attention to anything else. 

Noel stripped them both quickly and tossed himself onto the bed, holding his legs open wide in obvious invitation. Julian, operating on muscle memory, opened the top drawer of Noel’s night table, looking for supplies.

The lube was in the drawer of Noel’s bedside table, just as Julian remembered, though it was a different brand than Noel had favored when Julian shared his bed regularly. The syringes and other paraphernalia hadn’t been there the last time, either. It made Julian feel a pang of something that was almost deja-vu but not quite--perhaps _presque vu_ was a better word for it, something almost-seen rather than already-seen.

Julian ignored the uncomfortable feeling, instead slicking his fingers with the lube, rubbing them together to test the consistency. It smelled of artificial strawberries and seemed slippery enough, so he slid into the bed behind Noel, who was lying on the bed on his side, holding one thigh against his chest, giving Julian access to his hole.

Julian took his time working him open, slicking his hole and the cleft of his arse with lube before he even dared to stick a finger inside. He watched as Noel’s body yielded to accept him, his finger disappearing into the tightly-furled orifice with little resistance.

“You can do another,” Noel whispered. “I ain’t forgot what it’s like.”

Julian obliged, watching as his arsehole stretched to accept his fingers. Soon enough, Noel was whimpering, begging for more.

“You got a johnny?” Julian asked, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on the sheets.

Noel put his hand over Julian’s. “We don’t need one.”

“Of course we do,” Julian protested, a bit miffed that Noel would do something so stupid. He reached for his trousers to fish through his pockets for his wallet and the condom he kept there. Noel and Dee weren’t exactly monogamous, and even if they had been, Julian wasn’t naive: he’d lived through the AIDS panic of the rise of heroin chic in the 90s and knew the risks of IV drug use.

Noel’s eyes were wide and pleading. “I just wanna to feel you come inside me.”

The words hit Julian like a tidal wave--he, too, wanted nothing more than to feel Noel with nothing between them, the way they used to be. For a moment, his resolve wavered. Then he came back to his senses. “That’s a stupid idea,” Julian huffed. Even if he’d fucked Noel bare, the heroin would still be a barrier between them.

Noel pouted. Julian closed his eyes; it was the only way he could resist Noel when he begged.

“Fine,” Noel acquiesced, giving up. “I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me now. I don’t care.” He spread his legs. “Hurry.”

Julian opened the packet and removed the johnny. His hands were shaking as he rolled it down his cock and slicked himself with some extra lube, and he felt as nervous as teenager about to lose his virginity. It was stupid: Julian was far from a virgin, and he and Noel had done this before, more times than either of them could count. 

“Hurry,” Noel whined again, and Julian rolled him onto his back and pushed his legs into his chest, lined himself up, and slid home.

Noel made a tiny, broken sound as Julian pushed inside that made Julian’s heart stutter. He was just as warm and tight as Julian remembered--how could he ever have given this up? Julian could not fathom ever not having Noel again--and he paused for a moment to gain his bearings and keep from coming immediately.

“Oh fuck me, please, fuck me,” Noel whined, rolling his hips to force Julian to move. His hand was on his cock, stroking slowly.

Julian complied, canting his hips to pull out halfway, then slide back in to the base. He paused, then thrust again, slowly finding a rhythm.

Noel’s eyes were half-closed, his mouth wide open. A bead of sweat clung to his eyebrow; Julian used his thumb to brush it away, and Noel’s eyelids fluttered open at the contact. His irises burned bright and blue, the black circle of his pupil just a pinprick. The effect was uncanny, and made Julian shiver, but not in a good way.

It made Julian remember the last time they’d done this, that strange sense of disconnection from their bodies that had made sex feel so distant. He couldn’t help but wonder what Noel felt-- _could_ he feel Julian moving inside him, above him, pressing him into the mattress? Or was heroin’s embrace stronger and sweeter than Julian’s; did it crowd everything out? Was that why this felt so much more intense than Julian remembered: because Noel couldn’t feel anything, so Julian had to feel _everything?_

Such thoughts pulled Julian out of the moment. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving mid-thrust, that he was bracing himself on his forearms over Noel’s body, their bodies half-joined, until Noel whined and wrapped his legs around Julian’s waist. The muscles of his arse clenched, and Julian’s cock jumped, reminding him that he was still inside Noel, was still supposed to be fucking him.

Julian’s arms began to tremble, and he let himself collapse onto Noel, rearranging their limbs so that the full length of their bodies were pressed together, his weight bearing down onto Noel and pushing him into the mattress. He didn’t have much leverage with this position, so he fucked Noel with deep, rapid thrusts, barely pulling out, keeping their bodies joined together as closely as possible.

Noel’s body was warm and tight around his prick, his body sweat-slicked and chest flushed with desire as Julian pushed himself deeper, deeper still. He clung to Julian the way a drowning man would cling to a floating piece of wreckage, with the kind of white-knuckled desperation with which one held on to the one thing keeping him afloat in the stormy sea, and Julian did not protest, not even when Noel’s nails dug into the skin of his shoulders deeply enough to draw blood.

He did not know if he was enough to keep Noel afloat, but Julian snapped his hips against Noel’s arse, trying desperately to anchor him, to keep the man he loved from being dragged into the eye of the storm and out to sea. Noel urged him on, babbling filth-- _fuck me, fuck yes, fuck_ \--until Julian could feel his orgasm start building in his balls.

He tried to hold himself back, but Noel reached to cup a shaking hand behind Julian’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss, and it was all over--Julian’s orgasm hit him all at once. He froze, trying to delay the inevitable, but as soon as he felt the warm wetness pooling around the head of his cock in the condom, he reared back and thrust into Noel’s arse as hard as he could, moaning into the man’s mouth, moans that Noel drank down greedily.

Oversensitive, and still breathing hard, Julian pulled out. He removed the condom, tying it off and tossing it to the floor as Noel burrowed into his side.

Noel’s penis was still hard against his thigh. It seemed important that Julian be able to give him as much pleasure as he’d given Julian, so Julian reached for it instinctively, intending to wank him off. Noel batted his hand away.

“But you didn’t--”

“Leave it,” Noel said. “It doesn’t always happen, yeah?” He smiled softly and tucked one of Julian’s sweaty curls behind his ear. “It’s just the dope. Don’t mean I don’t still love you.” He snuggled into Julian’s chest, breathing deeply and running his fingers through the sparse curls between his tits.

And that, Julian thought, was the whole problem--heroin made it harder to love Noel, but it did not stop it, did not make it ache any less acutely. He held onto Noel as his breathing slowed into a snore and his body went slack with sleep, holding him through the night, holding him until the dawn broke and Julian’s heart broke along with it.

It wouldn’t be the last time they fucked. Julian was ashamed to admit that he could no more quit Noel than he could quit smoking--he’d tried, fuck, he’d tried, over and over, more times than he could count. But inevitably, there’d come a moment when the craving got too strong, when he could no longer resist, and he’d buy a pack of fags and suck one down so quickly his head would spin.

Noel was the same: Julian could only resist so long before the ache in his chest and between his legs made him fall into Noel’s bed, into Noel’s body, dizzy on desire. He’d tried other lovers, men and women both, but they only made the craving worse. Nothing, no one, felt as good.

Noel might have been addicted to heroin, but Julian was addicted to Noel. No amount of Noel could ever be enough, could ever make him stop.

 

 

**v: i wanna have God in my veins (i heard she saves)**

The Future Sailors tour was killing them, Noel more than anyone.

By the last leg of the tour, they were all exhausted and half-sick from the long hours and lousy food. But only Noel was more and more frequently plagued by shivers, cold sweats, and stomach pains as the tour went on. More than once, Julian had found a bottle of oxycodone with someone else’s name on it in Noel’s things. Not for the first time, he resolved to confront Noel about his habit when the tour was done. They only had to make it through 12 more shows, and once Julian had shaken off some of the bone-deep exhaustion from spending a year on the road, he promised himself they’d have the conversation they’d been putting off for months now.

They were in some Godforsaken town near the Welsh border, some podunk city with a name that was almost all consonants, when Julian realized that for Noel, heroin was no longer a casual indulgence. They’d been on the road for two days, all five of them crowded into the bus. There was no privacy, and Noel had been sick, twitchy, and irritable the whole way there. Once they finally arrived at the hotel, he’d immediately headed for his hotel room, which was unusual for him--Noel always wanted to check out the local nightlife, get a feel for the local culture. He swore it helped him to read the crowd. Not many people knew this about Noel, but he was a superstitious man with many pre-show rituals from which he rarely deviated, and it was unusual enough that Julian grew concerned.

Julian dragged his bags to his hotel room, depositing them on the floor. He tried to settle in, watch some telly, and enjoy his solitude, but he was still worried about Noel, worried that he’d be too sick to perform. He sighed, forcing himself off the bed, mentally preparing for an uncomfortable conversation.

Noel’s room was two doors down, and before Julian knew what he was doing, his fist was raised and he was knocking on the door.

Noel answered immediately. He looked sweaty and miserable, but he let Julian in without a word.

Julian looked around the hotel room, where Noel had already begun to sprawl. His suitcase was open on the bed, and clothing was piled on every available surface. Julian cleared his throat. "What the hell is wrong with you, Noel?" Perhaps he’d been too blunt, but he didn’t have the energy to be tactful about it, exhausted as he was from nearly a year on the road.

Noel brushed his hair out of his eyes. "S'nothing. I just don't feel well."

Julian knew he was only telling half the truth. He snorted. "Well, you've been 'not feeling well' more often that not these days. The tour is almost over--don't fuck it up now."

"Yeah well, that's easy for _you_ to say,” Noel said, crossing his arms defensively. “You're not the one who's back is always hurting from carrying the whole damned show!”

Julian breathed deeply, trying to reign in his temper. "This has been going on a lot longer than this show." He glanced at Noel meaningfully.

Noel huffed. "Yeah, I've been carrying _your_ dead weight for years--"

His words made Julian see red. His carefully-constructed composure collapsed. "Is that what you think? You've been carrying my dead weight?" He glared at Noel, who was crossing his arms across his middle more tightly, as if he were anticipating having to block a punch to something vulnerable. His defensive posture made Julian go for the KO. "I've had to drag you out of the bar after you pass out at parties. I've carried your dead weight up four flights of stairs to get you home safe. And I've carried your dead weight onstage when you've been too fucked up to remember your lines properly. How the fuck do you think my back feels, Noel?"

Julian's voice has been steadily rising throughout his speech. By the time he’d finished speaking, it was almost a shout.

Noel's face scrunched up, his hands curled around his biceps, arms still crossed against his torso. He looked like a child who'd been caught in a lie and knew he couldn’t lie his way out of it. Something about the way he held himself made Julian's anger dissipate into pity. "Julian--"

But Julian interrupted him. "Because it fucking hurts, OK?" His voice was small and rough. It wasn’t his back that hurt, but he and Noel were out of the habit of being honest with each other; this was as close as Julian could come to the truth.

Suddenly Noel's arms were around him, comforting him. The abrupt role-reversal made Julian’s head spin. Regardless of everything, being in Noel’s arms still made him feel safe, and he allowed the embrace, his anger fading as he relaxed into the hug.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Noel said in a small voice. He rubbed his eyes; his hand came away wet.

“I don’t either,” Julian said, tightening his hold on the smaller man.

Noel wrapped his arms around him. “Stay with me tonight.”

“Noel,” Julian sighed, torn, thinking of Julia and the twins, all the reasons this was a bad idea. “I shouldn’t.”

“Please,” Noel said, staring up at him, eyes wide and blue and shining with unshed tears.

Julian felt his resolve crumble. He gathered Noel into a hug, his heart jumping when Noel fit his head neatly under his chin. They’d always fit together so perfectly, so much more naturally than anyone else, and Julian knew he would be spending the night in Noel’s bed. “I’ll stay,” he murmured, trying to quash the guilt he was feeling already.

They held each other a few more minutes, Julian quietly reveling in the familiar feel of Noel’s slim body in his arms until Noel nuzzled his armpit, then grimaced. “You’re starting to pong,” he muttered into Julian’s chest. “Go take a shower.”

Julian chuckled and pressed a kiss to the crown of Noel’s head, right on top of his messy hair, before releasing him from the hug. “I’ll use yours, yeah?”

“Go for it,” Noel muttered. He’d wrapped his arms around his chest, as if trying to hug himself. Fifteen years had passed since Julian had met him in that crappy bar in Croydon, but he looked just as young and vulnerable as he had that first night. Julian pressed one last kiss to his temple, and excused himself to the bathroom.

He stood under the steam hot water, letting the steam relax his muscles for a long time before he got to the business of washing himself, paying special attention to his pits and balls. Eventually, he figured he’d relaxed as much as he was going to, and cut the water, throwing on one of the scratchy complimentary robes as he dried his hair and inspected his reflection in the mirror.

Suddenly, Julian heard a crash from the bedroom. He rushed out of the bathroom, still in his robe, hair dripping, to find Noel collapsed on the floor, boneless. Crouching down next to Noel’s body, he pulled the man into his lap. Noel’s body was a dead weight, his limbs flopping uselessly, and Julian slapped him, soft, then harder, as he tried to bring him back to consciousness.

“Wake up,” Julian pleaded. “Wake up wake up _wake up_.”

But Noel didn’t. And Julian screamed.

 

He wasn’t sure what happened after that. He would remember the next few minutes only in flashes: Mike and Dave rushing into the hotel room. Someone dialing 999 on Julian’s mobile. Sirens and flashing lights. One paramedic in a green jumpsuit sticking a needle into Noel--Julian trying to explain _no, no, don’t give him any more, you’re killing him_ while Dave and Mike held him back--Noel’s eyes flickering open for a moment before going under again--the other paramedic dropping a vial of something on the floor as she tried to fill another syringe--Noel jerking awake with a gasp--the paramedics putting him on a gurney and taking him away--the images played across Julian’s eyes like scenes from a movie in fast-forward.

Somehow, Julian and Mike ended up at the hospital. The doctors let Mike in to the hospital room as they worked to keep Noel alive, but since Julian wasn’t family, he was forced to sit in an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room, waiting, he supposed, for the doctors to stabilize him enough to allow visitors.

Occasionally, Julian would spring out of his chair, pacing restlessly up and down the length of the room, the other patients giving him a wide berth and eyeing him suspiciously. Julian knew he looked mad, but he didn’t _care_. All that mattered was that Noel _live_ , and this strange liminal state of not-knowing was driving him mad.

One of the nurses took pity on him, or else got tired of watching him pace like a madman, and let him wait in the corridor outside of Noel’s room. Julian took anxious peek, but could not make sense of the swarm of people inside. All he saw was the green of scrubs, the white of the hospital walls, and a lock of Noel’s hair, lank, black, and greasy against the pillow.

All at once, a wave of guilt hit Julian in the chest with so much force he thought he’d drown in it. He pressed his back against the wall, and was unsurprised when his legs trembled and gave out beneath him; he let himself slide down the wall into a sitting position right there in the hall, letting the wall hold him upright as his shoulders shook with sobs that Julian forced himself to swallow.

After all, he’d been the one to give Noel his first bump of heroin. He hadn’t thought anything of it--back then, it was just something you did to take the edge off the uppers at the end of the night, to make the comedown a little more gentle. He’d managed to use casually for years, yet somehow it had sunk its claws into Noel and refused to let go. Somehow, as close as they were, Julian had not known--or maybe, he had not _wanted_ to know. At least, not until he could no longer ignore it.

The kind nurse who’d allowed him to wait outside the room found him there. With pity in her eyes, she offered him a hand, and Julian reluctantly let himself be pulled upright. He swayed a bit, feeling unsteady on his feet like a man who’d spent so long at sea that solid ground made him seasick.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she whispered. “But he’s going to be OK. They got the Nalaxone into him in time.” Her expression was still tender as she led him down the hall.

“Thank God,” Julian said. He’d never meant anything more. The nurse tapped his back gently, as if comforting him, as he allowed himself to be led back to the waiting room.

She gave him another concerned look. “You should go home. It’ll be a while before he stabilizes enough for visitors.”

Julian knew she was right--they would have to cancel next evening’s show, and Julian would have to deal with the fallout sooner rather than later, but all that seemed unimportant. “It’s ok,” he said in voice so small and sad he barely recognized it as his own, “I’ll wait.” It didn’t matter how long it took--he’d wait.

 

It was nearly four in the morning before they allowed Julian to see him. Mike had long since returned to the hotel when Julian walked into the room, silent and alone.

Noel looked small and pale in the bed. His hair was a mess, matted, bangs clinging greasily to his forehead. Julian has never seen him look so small, so frail. It made his stomach clench, and he stood awkwardly at Noel’s bedside, unsure what the etiquette was in this situation. What did you say to man who had so recently come back from the dead? Julian was at a loss for words.

Luckily, Noel spoke first. “You saved my life,” he said, his voice hollow and hoarse. “My hero.” He batted his eyelashes comically, but the effect was ruined by his wan, pale complexion, the shake in his voice.

Julian wanted to reach for him, to crawl into the hospital bed and gather Noel in his arms and hold him there, keeping himself safe forever, but he knew it would be in vain. Sooner or later, Noel would grow restless with craving for the dope, and no matter how tightly Julian tried to keep him close, Noel would find a way to escape his grasp to seek heroin’s embrace instead.

So Julian stood and slid his hands in his pockets, standing awkwardly at his bedside. “I didn’t save you. All I did was scream.”

“Still,” Noel said, forcing a smile. He succeeded only in forming a half-smile that looked more like a grimace.

Julian didn’t say anything. His head was swarming with a hundred thoughts all at the same time. What do you say to a man who only hours earlier had died in your arms? Never mind that he’d come back. Julian knew he would never forget the dead weight of Noel’s body as he’d tried to lift him off the floor, the cool and clammy feel of his skin, the unnatural stillness in his chest when he’d stopped breathing.

He exhaled, a long, shuddering thing. “I can’t do this anymore,” Julian murmured, his voice cracking. He swiped his hand over his mouth, as if he could wipe away the bitter-tasting words so easily.

Noel shook his head. His eyes were suspiciously bright. “You said _always,”_ he reminded. “You don’t just leave because it gets _hard._ ” His voice was high-pitched and full of tears. Swaddled in the hospital bed, Julian thought he resembled nothing so much as a toddler on the verge of a meltdown.

“You don’t understand,” Julian said. A sudden surge of anger made him clench the hands in his pockets into fists. His nails dug into his palms uncomfortably, but Julian just held on tighter, letting the pain ground him, keep him focused on what he meant to say. “Every time you take another hit, Noel, I feel it. A part of me dies, OK? A part of me that loves you.” Julian did not bother to mention that if he stuck around to watch Noel continue to play this dangerous junkie roulette, eventually Julian’s heart would cannibalize itself, the muscles weakening until they gave out and it stopped beating completely. He was sure he would die of it; the miracles of modern medicine would not be enough to save him. What good was a transplant, what was the point of living the rest of his life with another man's heart beating in his chest when he’d never find a match as perfect as Noel?

Noel tried to grab for him with a skinny, trackmark-scarred arm, but Julian was standing just out of reach and Noel was too weak to sit upright. “You can’t just leave!” he sobbed, his arm weakly collapsing at his side, landing on the bedclothes with an open palm.

His hand looked oddly vulnerable, fingers curled around an empty space, and Julian fought the impulse to slip his own hand inside it. “You left first.” Julian’s voice was barely a whisper. “You leave me a little bit every time you use.” He’d used to think his greatest fear would be losing Noel to an overdose. But now he knew better--it was crueler like this, losing him one piece at a time.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Noel said. “I’m still here.” His fingers twitched, his palm still empty.

“You’re here, but are you _really_ here?” Julian asked, letting out a bitter half-chuckle at the old joke.

“Of course I am--” Noel began, but Julian interrupted him.

“You’re here now, but how long will it last? A week? A day? An hour after they release you?” Julian scoffed. “The next time you get high, you’ll be gone. And then it will only be a matter of time before you--” Julian choked on the words _leave me for good--_ “you’re gone forever.”

“Julian, please--” Noel begged.

But Julian walked out the door, body shaking, hands still clenched into fists.

It didn’t matter. Noel had made his choice: he’d chosen heroin. He’d _keep_ choosing heroin, Julian knew--as much as he might say he loved Julian, as much as he might profess to _need_ Julian, he would never need Julian the way he needed the dope. As much as a broken heart might ache, it wouldn’t make you break out in the kind of cold sweat that would drench your sheets all the way through, make your guts twist so hard you shit yourself, give you restless legs and fevers the way withdrawal would.

The guard at the information desk gave Julian the number of a cab. While he waited for the car to pick him up, he stood outside and chain-smoked as a cold rain fell. He didn’t even try to huddle under the awning or attempt to stay dry--he let the rain soak through his clothes and all the way down to his skin, as if it could cleanse the events of the last several hours off of him, out of his mind.

He shouldn’t have been so surprised when it didn’t work. When the cab arrived, Julian was soaked to the bone, shivering in the backseat and watching the rain beat against the windows as they drove into the night. It seemed significant, almost like a metaphor for something, but what for, Julian was too exhausted to try and figure out.

 

 

**vi. how can I live with so much love?**

Julian came back to himself all at once, blinking and willing his eyes to focus. Julia sat next to him, looking at him sadly as she reached to remove the tablet from his slack hands. Julian didn’t put up much of a fight when she turned if off. He’d had enough news for the day, and possibly for the whole week.

Julia didn’t say anything, just dumped Julian’s long-since-cold tea into the sink and busied herself making a fresh cuppa. Julian just watched her, noticing not for the first time the similarities between her face and Noel’s. Julia’s features were more delicate, softer, decidedly feminine, but she had the same beaky nose, pointy chin, and androgynous build as Noel.

Julia served him a fresh cup of tea, still smiling sadly. She sat across from him, sipping tea and holding his hand, not speaking, instinctively sensing that Julian needed the silence to sort his thoughts, for which Julian was grateful.

He tightened his fingers around her own, staring into his coffee cup so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. He loved her, madly, more than he loved himself, but sometimes it hurt to look at her--sometimes he looked at her and didn’t see her at all. Noel was still alive, but that didn’t mean that Julian wasn’t haunted.

 

After breakfast, Julian retreated to his study. Julia and the boys knew better than to interrupt him when he was hiding out up there, and Julian sat on the couch and absentmindedly strummed a melody in a minor key on his guitar, lost in thought.

Eventually, he put down the guitar and walked over to the large wardrobe in the corner of the room. He paused a moment, grasping the handle, hesitating, then opened the wardrobe where he stored his Boosh memorabilia. He’d taken everything Boosh-related off the walls and shelves and shoved them out of sight last year, after Noel had started using again after nearly a year sober. Julian had felt like a chump--he’d believed Noel when he’d said that he was off the dope for good, had welcomed him back into his life, had invited him into his house, had even let him take the twins to the circus unsupervised--even after all that, Noel had gone back to the dope. Julian had lost hope that he’d ever be free of it.

He sorted through the stack of photos, reliving the frozen memories. He’d forgotten so many moments, some of them stolen by time, some because he’d forced himself to forget.

One photo in particular gave Julian pause. It had been taken backstage, after the very last performance of Future Sailors, only a couple of weeks after Noel had overdosed in that godforsaken West Midland city. They’d been distant from one another, avoiding being alone unless they were onstage, but after that last performance, when it was all over, Noel had reached for him, pulling Julian into a hug that he’d hesitantly allowed. Noel had pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and cupped a hand under his chin, and Julian had smiled sadly, murmuring that he loved him, one last time. Noel’s eyes had been full of tears when he let go--Julian’s too, but both men blinked back their tears to join the rest of the cast, who were jubilantly celebrating the end of the tour.

Julian hadn’t spoken to Noel in months, at least not in any meaningful way about anything other than their shared business interests, and Julian was hit by a wave of longing as sudden as it was terrible. He wanted nothing more than to hear Noel’s voice, just for the additional assurance that he was still alive; his fingers clutched his mobile with a white-knuckled grip, but he could not make himself dial the familiar digits. Several years had passed since the terrible night Noel had overdosed in his arms, but Julian still did not know what to say to a man who’d come back from the dead. He had a sinking feeling that this would not be the last time Noel flirted with death, that death, like a jilted lover, would not let him get away so easily next time.

He loosened his grip and let the mobile drop onto the rug, kicking it under the desk where it would not tempt him. Instead, he booted up his laptop and donated a tidy sum to the London needle exchange, then rescued the framed image of Noel’s last kiss from the pile of memorabilia on the floor, which he placed on his desk with a silent plea that Noel would find a way to choose life, and keep choosing it, even when heroin was on offer.

Julian would be here, waiting, when he did.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter title is a lyric from a song about heroin. The soundtrack to this fic is as follows:
> 
> 1\. Arcade Fire: Peter Pan  
> 2\. Lou Reed: Perfect Day  
> 3\. John Frusciante: Smile From The Streets You Hold  
> 4\. Eliot Smith: The White Lady Loves You More  
> 5\. Kai Straw: Pinocchio (A Soliloquy)  
> 6\. Arcade Fire: Peter Pan
> 
>  
> 
> I know this was not an easy fic to read. To all you readers who took a chance and stuck this one out: the muse and I thank you for reading. Comments and kudos feed us and help us write more fic, so please consider letting us know if you liked (or hated) it.


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